Sostenuto
by Listening to trees
Summary: When had their rivalry took a wrong turn, and twisted itself into the worst kind of obsession? KaiJou, Kaiba's POV. [Undergoing rewriting at the moment; please ignore and do not read. Thanks! :-)]


**Pairing: KaiJou**

**Genre: Romance, Gen**

**Rating: PG-15 for sexual implications**

**Warning: For swearing and Kaiba being a cold, cold asshole. Hints of het. Possible OOCness.**

[Was listening to**Samurai Champloo's soundtrack, 'Obokuri Eeumi'** as I wrote a key scene. So you could consider it this fic's theme song.]

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_Sostenuto (noun) - a passage or the performance of a passage to be played in a sustained or prolonged manner. Italian for 'sustained'._

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If he had ever devoted any thought to it earlier on (which, incidentally, would never have happened; unless he could've someway been forced to and so made null and void the issue), Kaiba Seto wouldn't be able to pinpoint the exact moment where all the _happening _started.

If he did, he would have put a stop to it. Crushed and brutalised that pathetic seedling as soon as it popped out its shy, minute head. What else could they have expected? He was Kaiba Seto. He didn't _do _emotionally invested.

Or did he? He would like to have some rock-solid affirmation from himself but he didn't. And then he couldn't; after he was doomed.

He would never now even if he had the ability to turn back; and dam up all the possibilities before they paved the first brick on this course. Their first happenstance; first exchange of words; the first punch thrown. The first detention where they endured one another; also that second time in his life when Seto realised there _were _instances when money did not write the rules (or maybe he just respected a teacher with the spine to hold onto her principles in front of him enough to back off).

So there would be no first encounter stripped of their veneers.

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At least, it would have been missing that strange, taut surreality stretched across the space between them. Consisted of more attacking; on the fact that their most shameful secrets had been wrested away, by a well-hated person no less; when they'd thought themselves safely private.

would have had a shorter beguiling, spent honing on Jounouchi's scars with experienced, transfixed eyes; that abruptly _knew _there were too many and too life-threatening to be all gangfights or parental abuse –and understood. Why the boy had been so intent on Yuugi before, happily, unfairly innocent Yuugi; with his creamy, unmarked frame; just as Seto almost knew he knew because his synapses had once ferried a similarly-sized sorrow.

He had been so _ANGRY _then.

Who was he anyway? He was only a toothless _dog_; a low-class, no-good duelist; a peas-for-brains who would never amount to anything useful. Who was he to show Seto, the genius billionaire teenaged CEO Kaiba Seto, that they could be one and the same?

He was already a fucking insomniac, dammit! He didn't need anything else to mar his blurry, barely-remembered dreams.

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There was no going back after that. Fight they did; scream they did; slur each other they did; more vehemently than ever. They just circled closer and closer.

One had to be within hitting range to inflict any substantive damage, didn't they?

That had been his truth; as he took the intense rivalry with him to full-time work like a graduation present; the other doing the same. They became a bizarre version of close friends, keeping tabs until they were always aware of any main events in each other's lives like they _were_. In fact, Seto had been right there to laugh in the blond's face when he'd gotten laid off; shaking the man out of his drunken stupor enough to slug his tormentor a black eye –and be reciprocated with a fat lip as handsome.

(And if the blond picked himself up all that much faster after that, Seto doesn't think. It has nothing to do with him.)

And Jounouchi, in turn, had been there when Seto finally settled on his choice of millionaire's daughters. In a way. While neither he nor Yugi (nor, God forbid, any of their old Geek Squad) had been invited, the new bridegroom could just imagine the misfit slouching over his weather-beaten couch; saluting a grudging toast with cheap beer at the television. So he added an extra edge to his smirk, the one he was aware irritated the blond to no end, and raised his glass –mindless of all the cameras, reporters and sycophants– in return.

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Eventually, his wife did catch on, shallow and distracted by his phony affection and luxuries as she was. And, being the perfectly spoilt daddy's girl; promptly gave him a piece of her mind. Hmph. As if Seto could _ever _be wholly anyone's, much less hers; when nearly all of him was Mokuba's before she ever entered the picture. Something he had not refrained from telling her, with many embellishments; he was not about to be denied the pleasure of watching her cry and stalk off since she had outlasted her usefulness.

He was instantaneously rewarded.

The divorce came and went. As expected, the stocks were hardly affected; and neither was his business with her father. He had been right when he assessed the man to be competent enough not to throw away a collaboration this important (Which may, or may not have something to do with the anonymous mailings his freshly-signed partner had received starring his beloved daughter sandwiched between several gigolos). If there was any derailment in his plans, it was the slight stir to Seto's peace of mind at his trophy wife's parting words.

_/I _refuse _to stick around any longer when you're already married to someone else, you sick, cheating fag of a fucking bastard./_

Good riddance. Except what on earth had the skank been nattering about? It was as though she hadn't meant his work, but a person.

At least it broke up the monotony in the usual separation excuses.

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Unlike Jounouchi's spectral presence at his wedding, Seto had actually deigned to grace the funeral himself in the flesh when the invites came. From what he'd heard, it was surprising that Jounouchi senior had taken this long, if at all, to kick the bucket. Advanced cirrhosis could be incredibly vicious.

Or not; since he'd been living on time borrowed from his son. Jounouchi's hair was much greyer now than it was supposed to be; the initial pressures had to be immense with no insurance. Up to that point three years ago when his side job photographing shit had finally sold, the monthly costs always ate up his meagre salary to the last thousand.

The marital status tag on his file was perpetually 'single'.

It was probably the money. Or it could be Yuugi's reason. The reason Atem had stayed behind; and Mazaki Anzu did not become Mutou Anzu but Fubaika Anzu. Seto's hired digging did not extend to spying.

Oh, how that should've struck him then; that even the knee jerk reflex that produced years of entertaining vitriol had not kicked in and blamed it on Jounouchi's physical attributes.

He would have run; scarpered with his tail between his legs. He would've tasted pure terror for no one but himself again in over two decades.

Because several hours later, after even the best friend had left, Seto had somehow a perfectly legitimate reason to loiter; idly observing how ridiculously well he could guess at the man's current posture: the slight hunch curving those lanky shoulder; the pocketed fists and the lifted left heel, pressing-not-pressing on the autumn earth. (As it did on the school shower's tiles when the (_scars_) occurred so unimportantly long ago). He could visualise the exact composition in those eyes as the sunset ushered too forcibly the frantic, landmine-riddled gauntlet of his life to its crashing close.

Because the revelation would follow. And ambush him; through escalating panic and horror; teach him that he was far, far too convinced of many completely _unmemorable_ things; like the shape of Jounouchi's jaw muscles from the grit of his teeth; the sharp the lightning the warmth the weight the laugh the bark the quiet the scented muss of his stupid hair and the goddamn, fucking, _eye colour_.

/_humid sepia summer_/

Shit.

By some nameless power he still manages to saunter, calmness to the supreme; to where his vintage Porsche was parked. (So far away yet where Jounouchi, alone on the hill, would see.) After which he fucking _bathed _himself in a haze of Hvorostovsky and top-notch upholstery while he waited (though he wished there was Chianti).

If the damn horse bones had really occupied, no, _pirated_ a good chunk of his brain's capacity that could've alternatively churned billions for 76 quarters, Seto had _better _be compensated.

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That night, as the man beneath him accommodated something that was too big to fit in him naturally, Seto'd also opened his arms to a whole host of potential problems. Problems that he was sure would be too much for either of them to handle. He understands how wrong it was that they'd always been there (will always be there) for each other this way; how wrong it would sound to society and to everyone around them (and yet it wasn't). But more importantly, the blond hadn't pushed him away; had never pushed him away since.

(He doesn't think about himself; about how he would never be able to push the latter away. He doesn't think about it for now.)

Presently, he supposed; staring at the hypnotic, enigmatic absurdity-yet-not sleeping in his bed, it wasn't the worst bargain he could settle for.

(Until the day he notices the tight lips during their heats; as if Jounouchi was afraid he'd say what Seto was afraid to say.

Then he had a new mission.)

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(*Owari)

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Notes:

1. There isn't any character in Yu-Gi-Oh with the surname 'Fubaika' that I know of. So this is just an OC.

2. Hvorostovsky; as in Dmitri Hvorostovsky. Older! Kaiba likes his operas. ;)

3. Chianti refers to the type of wine.

4. "Horse bones" is a_ really_ Japanese insult. Basically, it means a useless person.

5. This fic follows quite a lengthy time progression, I've dropped a few references to show the duration of time passed. For example, "quarters". Kaiba's a businessman. (*hint hint)

A review would ever so keep me happy. And aware of any mistakes that've transpired. :)


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